Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/29

 Then slowly walking to the fatal block,
 * The brave old man knelt down upon the floor.

“Oh, Lord, my God, Thou art a very rock,
 * In times of trouble. Christ, be thou the door

Through which I enter on the life divine.”
 * The executioner paused, he could not strike

That bowed white head, although the given sign
 * Was given by the judges all alike.

So then a priest came up and said, “My lord,
 * In your own way, you have called on your God—

I pray you raise your head on high, my lord,
 * One moment more and you are with your God.”

Smiling, he raised his head, and it was so.
 * Ah, me! ah, me! my heart is sad to think

Of all the fearless souls that were laid low,
 * And sometimes as I pausing stand and think,

On the old city square, I seem to see
 * The scaffold and the drummers standing round,

And the vast multitude of people like a sea,
 * Rising now here, now there, with a dull sound

Of cursing on the scene that they behold,
 * And prayers for the ones about to die,

And curses on the soldiers over bold,
 * That only laughed to hear the people sigh.

And with a start I wake to see the square,
 * Silent and lonely in the midday sun.

No matter, honor be to those who dare
 * Die unto God, although their days be done.

For their remembrance, shall like scattered seed,
 * Bloom into flowers in some far-off day,

And they with joy unutterable shall lead Their followers unto Him who is the way. And He with gracious voice shall say: “Well done,
 * Ye faithful servants, enter in the joy,

That was prepared for you before the sun;
 * Enter the peace now that knows no alloy.”